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This year, January 25 falls on the approaching Friday. Which means, of course, that scores of Robbie Burns celebrations will be held…on Wednesday, Thursday or Sunday! (It remains a mystery to my why so many bars and Scottish heraldry societies and whisky groups refuse to hold Burns Day events on the actual Burns Day, especially when it means holding them on a night when people might actually want to go out and have a good time, like, oh, I don’t know, A FRIDAY!)

In case you’re inclined to celebrate the great Scottish bard with haggis and whisky and general merriment, here are a few tips to follow:

1) You should drink whisky, even if you don’t normally like it. It doesn’t have to be an expensive single malt – Famous Grouse is my go-to blend, and Black Grouse is more assertive still at a similarly reasonable cost, and frankly Té Bheag is a steal at the price – but there should be Scottish whisky in your glass at some point during the night.

2) It is NOT acceptable to try to peak under someone’s kilt “just to see what you’ve got on under there.” Imagine someone doing that to a woman wearing a skirt. Exactly.

3) If you have a Utilikilt, that’s lovely and good for you. But don’t kid yourself into believing that you’re wearing a kilt. It’s a skirt, period. Own it.

4) Scottish beer can be quite good, but not if it’s called Tennent’s. Get yourself a proper ale, like something from Traquair House or an Ola Dubh or a BrewDog.

5) Haggis is not gross or dangerous or something to be feared. It’s basically just an overgown sausage, and a quite delicious one, at that. If you’re worried about the whole internal organs thing, stop to ponder what was likely in that hotdog you had last week.

6) That put-on Scottish accent? It’s nowhere near as good as you think it is. Just don’t.

7) Whisky can reasonably be consumed at any point during the Burns night activities. Before the Address to a Haggis? Have a dram! After? Sure, why not! During? Absolutely! With dessert? Naturally! Before dinner? Yep! After dinner? Aye! When the waiter…well, I’m sure you get the point.

8) In the absence of Scottish beer, feel free to drink something Scottish-ish from a brewery closer to home, or almost anything big and malty and delicious. I finished an Arcadia Ales Loch Down (from Michigan) while typing this and have no problem endorsing it for Friday.

There are two kinds of beer guide in this world. The first is beer guide as information provider and tour guide. These types of books, which I would say include not just my two editions of The Great Canadian Beer Guide, but also the successful Stackpole Books series of eastern states breweries guides, are generally more utilitarian than they are captivating, meant to be pulled from the shelf and referenced occasionally, or stuck in the suitcase or glove compartment for an extended road trip.

Beautifully photographed by Weaver’s wife, Anneliese Schmidt, this is the kind of book you can sit and read, as well as use to negotiate your way around the thriving northern California beer scene. I did the former, on my condo balcony with a beer at hand, and enjoyed the experience tremendously. I read of breweries, yes, but also of organic brewing and bottle cap jewelry, brewery tours and beer styles, the phenomenon of beer communities and the case for supplementing your beer touring with a stop or two for wine. (The last being accompanied by one of my favourite photos in the book, of the author looking sceptically at a sign directing him to a wine tasting.)

Along the way, of course, there are maps and brewery descriptions, as well as notes on local beer bars and bottle shops. Like Lew Bryson in his Stackpole guides, Weaver is not as concerned with rating the beers on offer as he is giving the reader an idea of what’s available and which he enjoyed the most. Where the bars and shops are concerned, he notes highlights and usually offers an observation or two on ambiance and menu offerings.

While it’s doubtful you’ll want to pick up a copy of this book if you’ve zero intention of finding yourself in the northern half of California in the foreseeable future, if you enjoy a good beer now and again and expect to visit once or twice over the coming three or four years, I highly recommend adding this to your traveller’s arsenal. It will whet your appetite for the trip to come, guide you while there and perhaps even prompt you to take a detour you might not otherwise have envisaged. And it will keep you entertained long after your return.

A couple of months ago, Evan Rail, a Prague-based writer of considerable merit, self-published a long essay — or mini-book, whichever you prefer — entitled “Why Beer Matters.” Well, “published” might not be quite the correct word, as it was and remains available in only e-book form, purchasable through Amazon for a mere $1.99.

I read Mr. McL’s review of it and was suitably impressed, but not to the point that I was willing to go out and get an ereader in order to view the thing. (I hate reading lengthy missives on my computer screen. Something to do with spending too much time in front of it on a daily basis, I think.) Some weeks later, I had reason to email Evan, who I have never met but have in the past communicated with electronically, and mentioned in passing his work, after which he kindly sent me a review copy in PDF.

And then it sat on my hard drive. And sat. And sat.

Until, this morning, I decided to finally print it out and read the damn thing! I’m glad I did, and you should be, too.

Because, ladies and gentlemen, I am now here to tell you that procuring and reading Mr. Rail’s 22 page treatise is the best use you’ll make of two dollars this year! It will make you smile; it will make you think; unless you’re a stuck-in-the-mud bore, it will make you nod your head in agreement; it will make you want to jump on a plane to go somewhere for the express purpose of drinking beer; it will make you want to track down the author’s favourite Prague pub so you can raise a glass with him; it will make you happy to be a beer aficionado; it will make you dismayed that you have not sampled more of what the world of beer has to offer; and above all, it will make you thirsty.

What’s it about, you might ask? Well, the answer is in the title, but at the same time that is more the take-off point than the complete raison d’être. “Why Beer Matters” is about more than just why beer matters, it’s also about what makes beer important, how it relates to our modern world, why we are able to derive such pleasure from it, and pivotally, why we all probably take it all a wee bit too seriously. Add to all that Rail’s winning style and wit and you have a most engaging bit of prose.

For two bucks you can buy a bottle of water on a sunny day, a glass of beer during Happy Hour at a disreputable bar, or scratch-and-lose lottery card, none of which I’m betting will deliver the enjoyment of “Why Beer Matters.” So just buy it, okay?

1. Split a 12 ounce bottle of beer with eight or nine other people and make a rating out of it. If there isn’t more than one bottle to go around, it’s great that you share and your mother would be proud, but beer is not meant to be assessed by the ounce. And speaking of which…

2. Emerge from the GABF or any other festival that limits you to tiny servings with a notebook full of ratings. That’s compounding the sin of the small pour rating with the added issue of making reasonable tasting notes while being jostled on all sides by crowds of merry drinkers.

3. Rate a barley wine at a beer fest on a July afternoon. Beer is contextual, as much or likely more so than any other food or drink, and a monster brew meant for cold nights in front of the fireplace just isn’t going to translate to a stinking hot summer’s day.

4. Expect local bars and breweries to treat you specially because you’re a top rater. Really, get over yourself.

5. Wax poetic over the latest barrel-aged and woefully out-of-balance limited edition alcoholic mess while trashing a beautifully executed take on a kölsch or pilsner simply because it’s golden and people might be able to drink more than one at a time.

Whisky Advocate is the successor to the old Malt Advocate magazine, to which I’ve contributed a column since I was a teenager. (Well, not really, but sometimes it seems like that long…in a good way, of course.) The mag is now part of the Shanken Publications stable of journals, which also includes Wine Spectator and Cigar Aficionado, and that means it is bigger, better and more beautifully laid out than ever.

So what could possibly be better than an $18 gift subscription to such a magazine? How about two for the same price! Yes, that’s right, but one and get the second free, so the lucky recipients will have no idea you spent a mere $9 on each of them.

I have a bit of an odd relationship with Innis & Gunn‘s barrel-aged beers. Starting with the Scottish company’s flagship Innis & Gunn Original, I’ve thought that many of their brands are quite enjoyable sippers, a sentiment illustrated well by their remarkable success in my home province of Ontario. Some of their special editions, on the other hand, I have found quite awful, indeed almost unconscionably so considering the hefty price tag which came attached to them.

One of those latter brews was last year’s Highland Cask, which I recall reviewing somewhere — I’m honestly unsure exactly where, or even if it was in print or electronic media — and finding to be a wee bit too similar to a Werther’s Original caramel candy. So I imagine it was with some trepidation that their p.r. people offered to send me samples of this year’s edition of the same beer, although to their credit that is exactly what they did. Ever willing to give a beer a second chance, I accepted.

The casks are different for this beer, of course, although beyond “a famous distillery in the Highlands of Scotland,” we are told nothing of their origin. (And wouldn’t it impress the hell out of you if i could accurately say, based on the flavour of the ale, from which distillery they hail? Sadly, I cannot.) What we do know is that the whisky they held was aged for 18 years, and that that their effect is miles better than was that of last year’s barrels.

In place of last year’s butterscotch nose, we have something significantly more attractive and complex, mixing soft vanilla notes with stewed fruit, light herbaceous notes and I think just a hint of peatiness. The body is sweet and flavourful, although perhaps a little simpler than it need be at 7.1% alcohol, beginning with some caramelly and chocolaty notes, backed by candied apricot, and leading in to a drier but still sweet body of lightly spicy toffee with vanilla and cinnamon notes, some lingering fruitiness and a warming quality leading into and through the finish.

A bit of hoppy dryness eliminates the cloying factor that might otherwise appear at the end of such a beer and makes this, when enjoyed at slightly below cellar temperature, one of I&G’s success stories. To mark a Celtic connection, I might enjoy this with an Irish stew, but for a pure play beer and food pairing I’d probably opt more for a glazed ham or roasted game bird.

You want to be careful when attaching your name to something. Like whisky, for instance. John’s Private Cask No. 1 is the latest special release from John Hall, distiller and blender at Niagara, Ontario’s Forty Creek Whisky, a part of the Kittling Ridge Distillery.

As the name suggests, this is a whisky near and dear to Hall’s heart, a special release focused not on the cask in which the spirit was finished — as were the Double Barrel, Port Cask and Confederation Oak, the last of which I raved about in Malt Advocate and City Bites, and am about to again in the September issue of Sharp — but on, in Hall’s words, “the taste of the varietal graiuns…showcasing the complexity of the aromas and tastes.”

So first, a little background. John Hall doesn’t make whisky the way most people make whisky. Instead, he ferments and distills single grain whiskies, made from barley, rye and corn, and ages each separately before marrying them together for a short honeymoon in sherry oak prior to bottling and release. (At least, that’s how he handles the basic Forty Creek. Others have the same start but get different treatment on the finish, a full three years worth of blended aging in the case of Confederation Oak.) This bottling starts the same way, but is proprietarily blended by John to maximize the impact of the specific grains. At least, that’s what he says.

Nosing and tasting it, I am left with no doubt that Hall did exactly what he says he did, and feel I have gained keen insight into the man’s palate for the experience. This is a good whisky, perhaps a very good bordering on excellent whisky, but it’s not one that I find especially to my taste, at least not initially. Instead of vast complexities on the nose, I’m left with an overwhelming sense of peppery butterscotch, richer, even, than the just-released-in-Canada Collingwood Canadian Whisky, which I thought was rather intensely sweet on the nose, and much less complex than the Elijah Craig 12 Year Old Bourbon I’ve been swooning over of late.

On the palate, however, a funny thing happens. Sure, it’s sweet and almost unctuous up front, but as it crosses the tongue spices begin to dance, with evident pepper — white and black — hints of nutmeg and mace, and closer to the finish, a touch of cinnamon. Alongside all this is fruit both dried and muddled, emphasis on the citrus, and the expected vanilla, but also a dryly toasty oakiness at the finish. Here, then, is the complexity I was looking for in the nose.

(And, I might add, a strong case against those who would insist that you can gauge everything you need to know about a whisky by sniffing it. As if!)

There are only 1,500 cases of this whisky being released in September, and as the ad copy says, when it’s gone, it’s gone forever. My assessment would be that it is very much worth trying at very reasonable $69.95 a bottle, but if it came down to a choice between Private Cask and Confederation Oak, I’d opt for the latter.